Snow is slowly eating my life and I find my only solace, the only weapon I have left to fight it’s encroaching freezing dampness, is- I shit you not, foodnetwork.com.

Seriously.

I am making my way through every pantry, cupboard, freezer, and fridge I have at my disposal, pulling out the baseline components of food and having the great oracle tell me what to fix. I haven’t done this since I was a kid, cooked my way to sanity. I gave up on trying to do domestic when I figured out that cooking was merely the Patriarchy’s way of controlling my womanly destiny and I would not be hindered by the yolk of their pearls and sweater sets. I was woman, hear me microwave a bag of popcorn. From hence forth I was the goddess of prepackaged reheated goodness and while on occasion I would lower my self to the depths of preparing an actual meal, it was only for special occasions and if I really loved you.

Now here I stand in the battered remains of my kitchen, barefoot no less, and I feel like I am rediscovering some lost part of myself. That maybe it’s okay to cook, that maybe it is not in fact yielding the high ground in the battle of the sexes if I know how to deglaze a pan. I can sauté and bake and broil and still be a mighty warrior of awesome and goddess of things other than fucking domesticity. Fuck, I even did my dishes in a timely manner. This so more than dinner my friends, this is... Actually I'm not quite sure what it is, but I will let you know as soon as I figure it out.

No Filter Ever: Fuck filters, what I really need is to go grocery shopping.